Page 48 of Crave

I stared up at the night sky. It was a truth I’d accepted from the moment I’d seen my dad’s eyes that night in the barn, the shame there a knife to the gut every time I’d called home only to be told I’d be in Calgary another six months, then a year. Until I’d finally stopped asking entirely.

A decade later and I was finally coming to understand that it was never going to matter how sorry I was. It would never matter how much I punished myself or how many times I apologized. All the hours I volunteered out in the community and donations I made to the pack might as well have been for naught. In Ben Caldwell’s eyes, I would always be ruined.

My heartrate picked up, my hands shaking at my sides, something my mother had said just now clicking in my head.

I’m not convinced either of you is good for the other.

Not was. Is.

Fuck, I needed a drink.

“You’re like me,” my mother said quietly. “You always have been. A fighter. When you get kicked in the teeth, you claw your way back up. You built The Spoke. It’s in your blood. Your sweat. I didn’t step in when you got home because I knew you needed to earn your way back. You put your life back together. No one shares the credit for that. Not me. Not your father. Only you.”

But I didn’t hear anything she said. Something cold had settled in my chest. “I need to ask you about something that feels… off, but I can’t put my finger on what. Lacey’s blood tests came back negative for any pathogens. And now it’s like the Council just wants to drop the whole thing. I can’t get anyone on the phone. They won’t send anyone out to investigate.”

“They’re overwhelmed right now. The bombing. The video getting out—”

“Sure, but if the vampires are developing some sort of bioweapon that can stop us from shifting, imagine if they could aerosolize that and deploy it during a major battle, or somehow get it into the water supply. They could wipe out entire packs, one territory at a time.”

“Right now all the Council has is one person’s word, a civilian’s at that, and a blood test that came back negative for everything they tried to test for.” When I started to protest, she held up a hand. “I believe you. Both of you. But if you want the Council to listen, you and Lacey are going to have to do the legwork, get evidence to back up this theory of yours.” She began working her way up the craggy rock face. “One last thing. Many see your uncle’s methods as uncompromising. They judge what River and the Tracers have to do as unforgivable. But none of us wants to see the Blood Wars restarted. So many lives lost, and countless more if the Nationwide Database Act is passed.”

“You really think it will come to that?”

“August told you he thinks we have a mole?”

I nodded.

Her eyes grew hard. “Trust no one.”

8

Lacey

BEFORE I KNEW IT, WE WERE HALFWAY THROUGH DECEMBER. Christmas music played non-stop on the radio. Every store I entered had decided to stack baskets of cinnamon pinecones at its entrance, which due to my still malfunctioning wolf senses made me want to run back out onto the street and gag. In between hot-gluing Major’s antlers for the pet costume contest on the last night of the Yule Festival (which Brody insisted he wasn’t entering) and baking seasonal-themed cupcakes to sell while dressed up as a five foot nine holiday elf (I so rocked the ears), I’d been making contact with other packs, seeking out information on the mysterious weapon the vampires had used against me. My only problem?

That would be the sudden and conspicuous absence of my best friend. Oh, he was there on paper. Half a pound of chicken with all my favorite sides showed up at noon on the dot on Mondays. His Tuesday offering, a deluxe brisket platter, caused half the people in line for sandwiches at Blair’s to shoot guilty looks at the door before sneaking across the street to The Spoke. After that we had words, but on Wednesday, an order of ribs still showed up, along with the daily special, Mac and Bleu, just the way I liked it.

I rearranged The Spoke’s reindeer this year so they were eating giant tinfoil pies. He stole the snowman off the front stoop of Blair’s, dressed it up in one of the signature t-shirts from his gift shop, and parked it in the front lobby. And every night he wasn’t on pit duty, he disappeared. I knew he was following up on leads, too, which so far hadn’t panned out. But it was impossible to dismiss the feeling that ever since Thanksgiving, we’d been slowly drifting apart.

My phone chimed with yet another delivery notification. Because, of course it had.

My apartment was currently under siege from delivery boxes. There were my mother’s anti-werewolf offerings, including a pair of arm guards that were flame resistant, stab-resistant and designed with maximum flexibility, plus wolf deterrent spray made from lion urine. Don’t ask. That one had gone straight out to the dumpster. I was pretty sure it was the cause of Godiva’s recent night terrors.

Then there had been Dallas’s Black Friday cat-shopping-spree. Like she needed a reversible cat bed with Fancy embroidered on one side in elegant script, and Godiva on the other. Also, no comment as to which side she preferred. Traitor. I’d done a hard eyeroll at the rhinestone studded collar and was this close to ordering a matching one in Dallas’s size just to be an ass. Except 1) I was halfway worried he’d like the idea and put it on me (not happening) and 2) then I’d opened the box containing the socks with kittens eating sushi. Fun fact: a girl can never have too many socks. Speaking of which…

“Godiva,” I sang, shaking the fish-flavored snacks and checking her favorite hiding spots one by one. Shredding the catnip mice Dallas liked to leave around my apartment to hone her hunting instincts? Which, okay, was better than her prey of choice—the couch. No tiny black shadow of a cat. Sunning herself on the window ledge? Situation catless. Leaping onto the kitchen table before slithering to the floor? Someone needed to tell her those little paws were just too furry.

Something rustled. I popped open her favorite Amazon delivery box.

Empty.

“We can keep doing this. We both know I’m going to find you.”

Silence. Apparently, we all knew who was alpha-cat in this tiny efficiency apartment. Spoiler alert: Not me.

Tossing the cat treats, I shifted into wolf form. The scent of cat was everywhere, mixed in with coconut from my latest batch of cupcakes, balsam fir, and the peppermint oil I’d been using to soothe my stomach after the unfortunate pinecone-lion-urine calamity. Thanks, Mom. I poked my nose behind the couch. No Godiva. Nosing behind the cushions produced one TV remote, thirteen cents, and zero cats.

I sniffed under tables. Behind cupboards. With oh so careful fangs, I pried open each of the Amazon boxes Godiva loved to hide in.